Page 99 of The Failed Audition

“Yeah!” I shout.

She passes me the red necklace, and I snap it on as I slip past the black curtain. I inhale hot, sticky air. The club is suffocating, the heat, the bodies—I immediately tie my dirty-blonde locks into a low pony, grateful for my white halter dress that lets my arms and legs breathe.

Camila presses a cold beer bottle to her forehead behind the bar. “The air conditioning is broken!” she shouts at me. She’s switched out her green “taken” necklace for a red crown. “We’re on a break!” She must notice me staring.

“Sorry!” I yell back.

She shrugs and slides me my usual drink: a tequila sunrise. “You look like you need this.”

I’d say it’s my RBF, but I’ve had a shit week. On top of the Shay and Nikolai fight, a guy grabbed my ass after my aerial hoop act—about an hour ago. And training has been difficult. I struggle to do these challenging drops on aerial silk. No matter how hard I try, I just freeze up.

The mental block keeps me from progressing. Being graceful and lithe is out of the question if I can’t perform the trick.

Self-doubt is a real killer.

“I did not sign up to drink in the pits of hell,” John grumbles as he plops on the barstool next to me. He wipes his sweaty forehead with his arm and wafts his black shirt away from his chest.

I raise my brows at him.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“You’re in a club calledThe Red Death. You don’t think what you just said was a little ironic?”

“Everything I say has a level of unamusing irony. It’s just the way it is. And unfortunately I have to live with myself longer than you do.” He motions to Camila.

“No,” Camila says, swatting his hand with a towel before she wipes the bar.

“At least quench my thirst while I’mdyinghere.” He huffs and I tug at the collar of my dress. “I say we leave in five minutes if they don’t fix the AC.”

Camila gapes. “What about me?”

“What about you? You’re being paid to suffocate. If I don’t get free booze, there’s no reason I should stay.”

I lift my drink. “Comradery.”

His eyes narrow at my tequila sunrise. “Is that free?” I see his eyes say:You call that comradery?

I suck the straw and bat my eyelashes innocently. “Bad day.”

John swivels back to his cousin. And very seriously says, “I’ve had the most tragic Saturday—”

“You consider every day a tragic one,” she cuts him off. “Nice try.”

He extends his arms and then touches his chest. “My life is excessively shitty. I should be giventwentyshots for that.” He taps the bar aggressively.

Camila slaps his hand away again. “You cry wolf, there’s a difference.”

John rolls his eyes. “You’re delirious from the heat, Camila. Cry wolf…” He snorts. “I don’t cry wolf.” If he had a beer, he’d chug it right now.

I check the clock behind the bar. Nikolai should be here soon if Amour ended about an hour ago. As the thought exits my brain, asquishnoise triggers all around the club.

Sprinklers lower from the rafted ceiling and spray the dancers, drinkers, and bartenders with ice-cold water. Splitting cheers of excitement and glee crack through the pop music, and my muscles even relax in the chilly sheets.

Camila mutters curses, her purple mascara running down her cheeks already. “A warning would’ve been nice!” she shouts at the backroom and removes her makeup with a towel. I didn’t put too much on tonight, so I think I’m safe on this front.

I turn to my left, to John. His dark brown hair dampens and sticks to his forehead. With his surly expression, you’d think a flock of birds just shit on his head.

I can’t help it—I laugh. Really hard. It’s honestly like a raincloud has sprung and decided to trickle on his head. Ironic, yes.

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